Waiting for Diego
by Hoseki-sama
Summary: A series of vignettes about Diego Armando, and to a lesser extent Mia Fey. Mia/Diego, spoilers for T&T.
1. Fresh Air Stimulates the Jaded Appetite

"Mr. Armado? I have your... um, lunch."

Diego turned his head automatically toward the sound of the nurse's voice and noted that it seemed slightly brighter on that side of the room. That's all his eyes were good for these days: detecting changes in light levels. Whatever. He could cope.

The hospital coffee was shit, but it was better than nothing. It warmed and stimulated him, and would serve as a suitable substitute for the real stuff until he could get out. Diego groped around on the bedside table where the nurse had placed his tray until his fingers bumped into a paper cup. He detested paper cups, but picked it up, held it under his nose for a moment- ahh, he felt alive again with that familiar smell going up through his nostrils and seemingly straight to his brain!- and sipped.

"Bitter," he announced, half triumphant and half blissful.

The nurse, not catching his tone, shifted slightly. "There's cream and sugar on the table, Mr. Armando. I can help you with it if you like..."

"No, no." Diego waved his free hand vaguely through the air. "No, sweetheart, bitter's how I like it. Bitter like fate. Mine. Yours, too, I imagine. Maybe everybody's."

The nurse hesitated, then said, "I'm not sure what you mean, Mr. Armando."

"Forget about it. And call me Diego, won't you? Mr. Armando is my dad." He paused. "Is he still alive? My dad, I mean. And my mom. And the rest of my family."

She paused again. Diego wondered, briefly, why he hadn't thought to ask after them before. But it wasn't that strange; for the past week, ever since he had come out of coma, his brain had been in a white fluffy haze. Probably sedative-induced.

"We have been unable to get in touch with your family," the nurse said slowly. "No one has visited you for several years, so our contact information is probably out of date..."

"Several years," Diego repeated flatly. It felt as if it had been only yesterday that he had been in that cafeteria, sitting just across from his nemesis. Only yesterday that he could have reached out, wrapped his hands around her throat, and throttled the two-faced Dahlia Hawthorne. For Mia's sake, of course.

Mia...! Diego accidentally took a too-large gulp of his coffee and spluttered. As the nurse rushed to his side anxiously, he cursed the fates soundly for making him hurt Kitten the way he must have. But... if no one had come to visit him for years...

The nurse's thin hands tried to pluck his cup of coffee from his grip, but he held on, breaking free, and poured it all down his throat with a _glugluglugluglug._

"Right-o." he said calmly, as though nothing had just happened, over the shocked protestations of the nurse. "Then there's someone else I'd like you to call. Mia Fey. Tell her... tell her death has no meaning in this world anymore."


	2. Nothing is Certain When You're About

It was the first time he'd ever seen her, and she caught his eye immediately. Long legs (that went all the way up;) long hair (that swung and caught the light ever so nicely;) and the most impressive rack Diego had ever had the honor of beholding. He whistled. "So that's the new girl? Looks like a real tigress."

His buddies laughed. "Watch out, Diego," Mike Langdon said. "She bites if you try to pet her."

Diego laughed with them. "What, she taken or something?"

Mike snorted into his sandwich as Jesse and Rob dug into their respective lunches and let him do the talking. "Hardly. But try saying a few words to her unrelated to work- hi, my name's Mike, you have breasts worthy of worship- and she just goes all 'I hardly think that is an appropriate comment for a work environment.' Seriously, she's a major downer once she opens her mouth."

Diego shook his head and clicked his tongue. "Mike, Mike, Mike. You're doing it wrong. You'll catch more cats with sweet milk than sour cheese. Watch and learn, my friend."

He stood, straightening his tie, and glanced casually around the cafeteria. There she was: alone at one of the little round tables and eating a salad. He walked over and settled down across from her.

She looked up, eyes widening in surprise. So his reputation had preceded him. Diego wondered if it was his reputation for being the best damn attorney at Grossberg Law Offices or the best damn womanizer that she had heard.

"Hello there," he said with his best sexy-but-approachable grin and an outstretched hand. "My name's Diego. You must be the new girl I've heard so much about."

"Mia Fey," she replied, taking his hand and shaking it firmly. Good. Diego never dated girls with weak handshakes. It was one of his rules.

"You looked lonely over here, so I decided to join you," he explained, waving a hand at the table at which they were sitting, which was meant to hold eight.

"I'm meeting Marissa here in a bit," Mia said. Tentative, but not shy. Also good.

"Nevertheless. It would be ungentlemanly of me to leave you unescorted while you wait."

Mia stared at him blankly. Maybe it was his womanizer reputation she knew after all. Damn. That made things a little harder. Particularly since he was seeing Marissa, though not exclusively.

He hastened to make conversation. "So how are you finding Grossberg Law Offices, Mia Fey?"

"Ah... quite well. Everyone's been very kind, and settling in has been a breeze."

"Got any cases coming up?"

"Not yet. I'll just be observing my seniors at work in the courtroom for a while before I take cases myself."

Diego nodded. "Naturally. I've got a case myself, tomorrow at ten; want to come?"

"What's the story?" Mia looked intrigued.

"Homicide. The client's fingerprints are on the murder weapon and everything. But he's got an estranged identical twin brother, so that'll probably come into play somehow."

"Wow. Do things like that happen often?" Mia flicked her bangs out of her eyes distractedly.

Diego chuckled. "You'd be surprised."

"I'd love to come." Mia tugged an appointment book out of her purse and flipped to the appropriate day. "...but I can't. Blast. I'm so sorry, I forgot; I have a dentist appointment then."

Diego shrugged. "No biggie." Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Marissa storming towards them, face like thunder. "Listen, kitten, I've gotta run. See you around, okay?" And with that, he stood and made a beeline for the door.


	3. The Road is Free to All

Mia settled down across from him and smiled. This was his favorite coffee shop, and it was her first time there. Diego smiled back; it was a cool fall day and perfect for a cup of his special blend, which he had personally taught to every employee of _Café Hâler_.

While they waited for a waiter to notice them, the couple made small talk. "So how's your hand doing?" Mia asked.

"You worry too much, Kitten," Diego said with a smirk. "I don't need you to lick my wounds."

"Meaning...?"

Diego sighed at her. Hopefully more prolonged contact with his twisted mode of speech would cure her of that annoying habit she had of not understanding him. "Meaning it's fine. The stitches came out last week. I can write and everything."

"But here's the real question: can you slam your fist on the bench dramatically yet?"

Diego chuckled. "The doctors advised against it, but what do they know? They're just trained professionals, after all."

Mia agreed laughingly as the waiter came to their table. Diego ordered (two cups of the special blend; he wouldn't let his Kitten drink anything less) and noticed something sticking out of Mia's purse. "What's that, Kitten?"

"What?" She glanced to where he was pointing. "Oh, that. It's a play."

"A play?" Diego leaned forward and plucked it from her bag over a squawk of protest. "_Waiting for Godot_. Hmm. Sounds fascinating."

"It is, thanks," Mia snapped, snatching the slim volume back from him. "And it's pronounced _go-doh_. Not _gawddot_."

Diego raised an eyebrow, surprised by her vehemence. "Fine, fine. I didn't know you were into plays, Kitten."

"I'm not, usually," she admitted, tucking the play back into her purse. "But a friend recommended this one to me. She said I'd identify with it."

"So how is it? Identifiable?"

"Yeah, actually." Mia blushed slightly, and Diego immediately wondered what kind of play it was. "I'm really enjoying it."

"Good for you, then. What's it about?"

"Well, specifically, it's about two men who are passing the time while they wait for a man named Godot. But it's so general it could have any number of larger interpretations: religious, philosophical, political... that's what makes it so compelling. In some ways, we all have a Godot for whom we're waiting..." she trailed off.

Diego smiled at her. "I love you when you're being deep," he said frankly. She blushed. "Seriously, Kitten, when did you branch off into literary deconstruction? Have you been thinking profound thoughts between cases?"

"Hardly. It's just..." she paused, struggling for words. "Things like this make me think about... me, I guess. What _I_ want. How I'll get it. I don't get to reflect on my life as much as I want to. It's important to think about what brought us all where we are today... am I making any sense?"

He looked directly into her eyes, making her blush deepen. "Absolutely. It just happens to be that I know exactly why I'm here."

"And why's that?" she asked.

"You," he said simply, and leaned across the table to kiss her.


	4. But Down There Everything is Red

"Mr. Armando?"

"Doctor," Diego replied. He knew most of the voices of the hospital by heart now.

"I have some good news."

No news was good. Mia was dead. "Do tell."

"We have an experimental... procedure that may return the larger part of your sight."

What would he have to look at? Kitten's grave? What a joke. "No one mentioned this to me. I was told the sight loss was permanent." As was the hair. But that mattered even less.

"We thought it was. But some of the test results have been very promising. It's... a mask of sorts. It feeds what it sees directly to your brain via electrical signals through your skull."

Diego felt a flare of interest; his curiosity was still strong. He beat it back. Mia was dead; what right did he have to happiness? "Does it require surgery?"

"No. But you'd have to come back every week or so for a while for maintenance."

"How's it powered?"

"Double-A batteries."

"And I'd be able to see again." That hadn't been a question, but the doctor answered it anyway.

"For the most part. Your perception of color would be altered somewhat. But you could see slightly into the infrared and ultraviolet spectra."

This mask was only a distraction. The question was, who was responsible? Who really killed his helpless kitten? Not the murderer himself; Redd White was just an animal. A loathsome animal, but one nevertheless. When a wild dog kills a cat, whose fault is it?

The cat's owner. The one who failed to look after the cat. And who had been?

Diego had always had a good memory for details. Who had been entrusted with the care of Mia Fey?

Phoenix Wright.

Well then. Could he get revenge on Phoenix Wright more easily if he could see? Probably. What good was a lawyer who couldn't read or investigate? Because Diego was a lawyer to the end. If revenge was to be given, it was to be given within the confines of the law, inside a courtroom. That would mean he would have to put himself on the other side of the courtroom from this Mr. Trite. That would mean becoming a prosecutor. Fine. Then it was decided.

A lifetime ago (or was it only yesterday?) he told Kitten that people like them weren't cut out to be prosecutors. Well, maybe that was true, but maybe it wasn't, because Diego certainly felt cut out for prosecution now. If it would destroy the one who had allowed Mia to die, Diego could do anything.

"I'll do it," he said, and so he did.


	5. What Do We Do, Now that We Are Happy?

They lay sprawled under sweat-soaked sheets, panting together. All was quiet in Diego's apartment except for the whir of the air conditioner and rumble of the dishwasher. Mia giggled slightly.

"What is it, Kitten?" Diego asked, looking over at her fondly. She really was beautiful in disarray, long hair spilling out over his pillow and distinctly naked body outlined in cotton sheets.

"I was waiting for that," she explained, still slightly breathless. "Ever since we started dating, really. I figured you'd say something cheesy, and I'd laugh at you, and we'd head back to your place and have sex and that would be it. You waited _months_. Why?"

"Well, you just said it, didn't you?" Mia looked confused. " 'We'd have sex and that would be it?' Nah. What's the fun in that? Now I've got you thoroughly ensnared. There's no escape, Kitten my dear. You'll feel obligated to keep dating me since you've already invested so much time in this relationship..."

They laughed together.

"I like you, Kitten. Really I do. I like you quite a lot. And I decided I wanted you to know that I like you more than your truly magnificent breasts. Although I do like them rather a lot as well..." He grinned, and Mia giggled. "That's all. Besides, if you wanted sex, you could have asked."

"But I didn't. Want sex, I mean." She propped herself up on one elbow to get a good look at him. "It's not such a big deal for me; I just thought it was for you, given your reputation at work. I'm pretty sure you've slept with all my female friends at Grossberg."

"Does that bother you, Kitten? That I'm a big filthy slut?" Diego put on his best pout.

"...Nah." Mia chuckled. "That would be hypocritical of me, after all."

"Kitten!" He gawped at her. "You don't mean to suggest... I mean... really? You? No way. No, no, no. I'd've... you're kidding, right?"

"Of course I am, silly." She leaned over and kissed his forehead. "But you're so cute when you're flustered."

Diego had nothing to say to that. They sat in companionable silence for a while, until Diego broke it. "Hey, Kitten?"

"Yeah?"

"Wanna move in together?"

She paused, digesting the thought. That was what made her a great lawyer; she always considered every facet of whatever case she was given. She thought about the ramifications, extrapolated the outcomes, judged the context. Then looked her potential client in the eye and said,

"Yes."

And so they did.


	6. He Thinks He's Entangled in a Net

Marble didn't fit her. It was cold and formal and exactly the same as every other yahoo's tombstone.

_Mia Fey. 1989-2016._

What a vile, pitiful summary. Who ever had the terrible idea of condensing a human life into a name and a series of numbers? Diego wanted to punch them.

It was a cold, grey day, foggy and damp. The only warm thing Diego had felt since stepping out of the hospital had been his coffee, which had burned his tongue. It cooled slowly in a thermos he held with a loose grip.

He knew his thoughts were scattered and confused, but felt vaguely like that was fitting. Even here, right before her grave, he couldn't quite bring himself to think about her death.

Everything was bathed in a harsh red glow. Oh, he could see fine; read the tombstone and so on. But it made the world look covered in blood.

How appropriate.

Oh, he was getting morbid. That would never do. He took a long swig of his coffee. Shit. He'd have to re-teach the cafe staff his personal blend.

"So no one was waiting after all, Kitten," he mused. Before his own death, he had viewed people who talked to graves with a mixture of contempt and confusion. Now it seemed less crazy.

"No," he corrected himself. "You were waiting, weren't you? You waited the longest. But what good is a visit to a corpse?" A question, he mused, better asked of himself.

"I can't exactly blame you for giving up," he said, half aware that he was rambling. "And... I can't say things would have been perfect if you hadn't, and somehow stayed, well, alive. But it would've been... nice. If yours had been the first voice I heard."

Diego looked down at his thermos. "Who was he to you?" he mumbled. "Did he cry? Does he think it's over? It's not, Kitten. I swear it's not over. But I will end it."

As much as he would have liked to, Diego couldn't cry. To cry would be a confession that something had ended. That Kitten had died while he slept.

But then again... something _had_ ended. His coma. He had been roused by the perfumed scent of coffee, he alone and not the half-dozen other people who had been lying as though dead in that hospital ward. Diego Armando had risen, groping blindly for the source of that smell, rather than the young woman who had been hit by a car, or the pale acrobat with the hideous wounds, or the old man whose brain had some slowly-growing tumor that was shutting him down one system at a time.

If Diego had been a man inclined to believe in fate, he would have attributed it to such. But he knew no external force had willed him alive to do its bidding. It had been him, and him alone. Diego Armando, weakened but still alive, had crawled out of Hell under his own power to enact his revenge.

No, he corrected himself. It was not that no one was waiting. The entire world had been waiting, and it was only just now beginning to realize it. People had killed and died and laughed and sang and had sex, all while waiting for him to finally wake up and smell the coffee. They had waited for years, parting and reuniting and forgetting, just to catch a glimpse of him. Waiting for Diego.


	7. To Have Lived is not Enough for Them

"Kitten. Glad you could make it," Diego said without preamble, sitting across from her.

"This is my office, Diego." Mia replied tartly.

He glanced around and smirked at her in his usual insufferable way. "Indeed it is. Nevertheless. I'm glad."

There was a long pause. Mia watched the senior lawyer settle in the chair usually reserved for prospective clients as though it were his second home. Despite the urgency that had been in his voice when he called her, (only fifteen minutes ago!) he seemed perfectly content to clam up now.

"So?" she finally asked, impatient. "What's going on?"

"A cup of coffee," Diego replied slowly, indicating with his half-full mug. "Is not so unlike a human life."

"What?" This wasn't particularly more obscure than he usually was, but it was less direct.

He took a sip. "The first gulp is inevitably the best, but few can truly appreciate it except in retrospect. The last is sour, when all the accumulated sins and lies are a gritty testament to the person who lived. The ones in the middle... are what really matter."

Diego scowled. "A hundred years later, no one will remember a man's tongue-scorching infancy or bean residue-filled dotage. The middle part is when he makes or breaks himself as a man... or a cup of coffee."

"Diego, is something wrong...?" Mia half stood, but was waved down. "I'm not talking about myself this time, Kitten. Let me finish. From the second gulp to the penultimate sip, he- or she- could be anything. Some people are the best cups of coffee you'd ever have the pleasure of drinking. Others are so horrible that you just have to soldier on in case it could get even worse, which would be an amazing feat indeed.

"I'm talking, of course, about our dear friend Dahlia Hawthorne. I trust you remember her?"

This time Mia really did stand up, slamming her hands down onto her desk reflexively as she did so. "Hold it!" she shouted, and was glad a moment later that the door was closed. "You're... _drinking_... Dahlia Hawthorne?"

Diego spluttered through a mouthful of coffee. "What? No! What does that even mean?"

Mia pointed an accusatory finger at her boyfriend. "I don't know! But didn't you just say you were?"

Unused to being confronted like that outside of a courtroom, Diego slammed his mug down on top of a case file on Mia's desk and stood as well. "Objection! I was being metaphorical! I'm not drinking anything except coffee, much less Dahlia Hawthorne!"

"Well... good!" replied Mia. They glared at each other for a few second before dissolving into helpless laughter.

After a few minutes of hilarity, the pair finally calmed down. "Anyway. Dahlia." Diego said, trying to steer them back on track.

"Right." Mia's chuckles died instantly at the sound of that name. "So what were you getting at?"

"I've been reading up on her between cases. Doing a little homework. I think I could get to the bottom of her crimes with a little luck and a little help. Are you-"

Mia cut him off. "I'm in. Tell me everything you know."

Diego smiled fondly. "Naturally. I brought a file with the most important stuff..."

They worked late that night.


	8. To Be Dead Is Not Enough for Them

"Mr. Godot? You have a visitor."

Diego looked automatically toward the sound of the guard's voice. He grunted noncommittally. "Who is it?" he asked, not bothering to correct the use of his pseudonym.

"Mia Fey, sir. She requested to meet with you in your cell rather than the usual meeting area."

Diego paused. "...Send her in."

The guard's heavy footsteps faded away, to be replaced by lighter, more familiar ones. They stopped about three feet in front of him.

"Godot," she said, voice sad and low and filled with a hundred layers that made it almost unbearably complex and beautiful. That was her, all right.

"Don't use that name, Kitten," he said softly.

"Fine. Diego." He could hear the tiny smile in her voice, and smiled back. "They took your mask?"

"That they did. They're checking it for weapons and so on. I had to give them my doctor's name so they could get a note from him testifying that I need it to see. Come sit down, Kitten." He patted the hard stretch of bed next to him and was rewarded with the sensation of a body sitting down. "You're... in that little girl's body?" They would talk. She would leave. Two dead souls, passing each other by. That was all.

"Yeah. You're hurt..." Her fingers ghosted over the thick white bandage the detention center doctor had slapped onto his cut. He was incredibly lucky it hadn't gotten infected.

"No biggie, Kitten. I'll... I'll live." He swallowed the final word, realizing just how vastly awkward this situation was. Here was his Kitten, sitting beside him after he had killed her mother who had been possessed by her cousin to save her sister and thwart the evil machinations of her aunt that would have resulted in her other cousin (but not the first one's good, if emotional, twin, their younger sister) gaining the position that was actually rightfully hers. Why did everything have to be so blasted _complicated_?

"Diego... it's okay. I understand." Gently, she tugged him into a hug, guiding his arms around her waist and wrapping her own around his shoulders. "It's over now. You don't have to smile if you don't want to."

"Goddamn, Kitten," he mumbled into her shoulder. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry..."

"Shhh..." she breathed, and he clung to her as though she were the last stable thing in the world. "It's okay. It's okay, Diego."

He shuddered slightly. "I feel like I'm waking up from a nightmare. Like all of this nonsense about you being dead and Tri- Wright, I mean- was just some sick dream and I'm only just now recovering from my coma. But this time everything's _right_."

"You can't just erase what's happened."

"I know, Kitten." He sighed heavily, and they held each other in companionable silence for a while. "Did... did you sleep with him?"

"What?" Mia sounded confused. "With Phoenix?"

"Yeah." Diego's voice was gloomy.

"..."

Oh. Of course. Naturally she had. Maybe he hadn't woken up from his nightmare yet.

She giggled. "God no, Diego. Me and Phoenix? That's... no. That... wouldn't have worked out very well. He's like the kid brother I never had."

"Who, then?" Probably that Edgeworth character. But no, he was too gay. Who knew, then.

"No one." She gave him a little squeeze.

"...Really?"

"Really. After you died, I couldn't find anyone else. I'll be honest, I don't think I ever properly got over you."

"Fancy that." Diego couldn't help himself; a lazy grin spread across his face. "Me, irreplaceable. I knew I was a heartbreaker, but dang, woman. Not even dying can make you move on. I'm _good_."

Mia snorted and gave the back of Diego's head a swat. "And not even dying can make you even remotely tolerable. In fact, I-"

She was cut off as Diego covered her mouth with his. Somewhere deep in the back of his mind, he knew he would probably never see her again-

(Their second lives were of a different nature, after all, since she was a spirit to be summoned and sent away as the mediums pleased and he was a zombie of sorts (a cyborg zombie, no less, which sounded like something from one of those bad sci-fi movies Diego never watched) to wander the earth and imitate the living, and he had a prison sentence to carry out and she had friends to advise whenever she visited the earth; unless fate (which Diego still did not believe in) was an extraordinarily kind mistress (which she wasn't) and threw them together again for reasons other than their completely requited love, this would be their last time together.)

-and he kissed her as hard as he had ever kissed anyone, desperate to convey his goodbyes without having to say them out loud. She returned his fervor with equal passion, tangling her fingers into his sheet-white hair and kissing back. A tiny part of her wondered, for a second, how immoral it would be to use Pearl's body for her own darker purposes.

The kiss ended, as kisses are wont to do. Inches apart, they stared at each other- bright brown eyes into unseeing filmy white- but after a moment passed, Mia stood.

"I... should go," she said quietly. "Everyone will want to tell Pearl what happened."

Diego nodded silently, and his Kitten walked away, leaving him behind in the relative darkness of his cell. He did not move.


End file.
